Castle on a Cloud
by Signless
Summary: A street urchin raised by a King is tasked with saving their Kingdom on the brink of revolution. Can the child convince Camelot to help their country or will their King be overtaken by the angry populace? (Eventual Merlin x OC x Arthur) Rated M for future violence and language.


As a child, I roamed the streets of Arcadia without much ambition. I stole to survive, whether it be simple loaves of bread or measly vegetables. I was quick, smart, and light on my feet. I always got away safely, and when I stole enough, I'd share with the other orphans that wandered about the kingdom's capital. My only concern was filling my own belly and living day by day. Winters were a pain, and many of the children often died, but somehow, I survived. Rory likes to believe it was because of him, but me, I rather like the idea that I was a lone survivor. Tough, strong, and ready for anything the world threw at me.

Perhaps I should go back a little earlier, but I worry that will take too long. Alas, it is vital that you know who Rory and the other children are, and so you will have to have patience with my story. Although I prefer to think otherwise, I must admit I am only here today because of them. They were the ones who kept me going despite everything. They taught me to survive.

I met Rory during the summer, when I was about eleven. He was the first among many other children that I'd meet in Arcadia, and definitely the best. It didn't take me long to trust him, but this was before living on the streets had hardened me. I almost miss those days.

Almost.

"THIEF!" a rail-thin shop vender screeched, her voice carrying along the streets of Arcadia. "STOP THAT CHILD!"

The two guards on the other end of the marketplace looked up, as if surprised someone actually had the audacity to steal on their watch. They pushed themselves off the wall of a building and ran after me, their heavy boots stomping through the plaza in an attempt to reach me.

They were too slow, of course. I'd already thought it all through, and it wasn't like this was the first time I'd stolen food. I took a shortcut through an alley, hopping lightly over some crates I figured the guards would stumble over in their haste to chase a child who only wanted a measly meal. At the very least, only one of them crashed into the crates, but the other kept coming. He must've been having a slow day before my theft.

Slipping through the alleyway was the hard part. The place was narrow, and there was trash littered all about, so I had to be careful not to drop my bread or get my already-torn clothing caught on any jagged surfaces. Luckily, I was skilled in this department already, so I made it through the alley quicker than either guard and with fewer holes in my trousers, too.

Getting away after that was rather easy. All I had to do on the other side was blend in with the crowd walking about the streets, and bam, I was home free. The crowd moved rather quickly, and soon, I found myself in the ghetto where I belonged. I stuffed my bread up my shirt, hiding it from anyone's prying eyes. I didn't want to lose my only meal, after all. That would just be downright moronic.

Losing myself in the crowd, I followed the people until they thinned out, most not wanting to go into the ghetto, not that I could blame them. I had almost made my way to the little alleyway I called home when someone grabbed me from behind, putting their small, filthy hand over my mouth to keep my from screaming and pulling me into an abandoned building I had just begun to pass. I tried to bite the hand uselessly, jerking my body against the offender without much use. By the time I began to wear myself out, my bread had already fallen out of my shirt and onto the floor, collecting dirt and dust on its warm brown surface.

"Oh, stop it, you." A high, child-like voice scolded me. "I'm not here t' hurt you, if that's what you think I'm after. I just want t' talk, is all." I wiggled weakly, trying to turn my head to see who was holding me, but the kid held me in place. "If I let go of you, promise not to run? You can scream, sure, but no one will come for some stinkin' orphan brat," they advised. I stopped wriggling for a moment, trying to weigh my chances as best my eleven year old mind could. After all, wouldn't this person have hurt me already if they wanted to?

When I stopped moving around long enough, the child released me and turned me about to face them, sizing me up. It was a boy, probably fourteen, with greasy black hair and murky brown eyes that seemed to follow every movement I made. He didn't look like much to me, but he was older, and probably smarter, so I quickly decided that I had to listen to what he had to say.

"Name's Rory. I saw you steal that bread back in the marketplace some time ago," he nodded to the loaf on the ground, and I quickly bent to pick it up, holding it to my chest protectively. "You alone? I've seen you a few times before, but never with any other kids."

He waited, his eyes still moving about. When he wasn't looking at me, he'd shoot a glance toward the filthy window, which was clogged with so much dirt, no one could see in or out of the old building. I looked around, too, but when I couldn't find much of interest, I went back to studying Rory's face.

Rory had freckles, which were so light I didn't even notice them at first. Although it was coated in dirt and grime, I could tell he was particularly pale for someone who lived on the streets. The clothes he wore were too big for him, but he seemed quite comfortable in them, so much that I thought it completely natural that a boy should wear something so baggy and loose until I remembered that other boys- boys with parents to look after them, boys with real roofs over their heads- did not dress like that. The trousers he wore didn't have as many holes in them as mine, and his shirt, probably white before, was dark after weeks, maybe months of wear and tear. Rory was cleaner than most other orphans I'd seen before, and maybe that was why I liked him so much. He was older, smarter, cleaner, and without him, I'd have been caught by the guards a lot time ago.

"Well? What's your name, kid?" he asked, growing impatient. I shifted uncomfortably as his eyes flew to mine, brown boring into green. "Don't you have a name? What do people call you?"

"Thief," I replied quietly, staring into his eyes. His eyebrows rose and his mouth split into a grin. Rory shook his head, his body shaking as he laughed quietly, his hand moving to hold his head as he struggled to contain the laughter that wanted to burst forth.

"No, no!" he said, and I frowned. He didn't like my name? But that was what everyone called me! "I don't mean that. People call me thief too, sometimes, but that's not what I mean. I mean what your parents used to call you. What your _name_ is, kid. My name's Rory, right? What's _your_ name?"

"Oh." I pursed my lips, thinking. I didn't like to think of parents, it always made me sad, but Rory acted like this name thing was important, so I tried to think back to what my "parents" called me. "Efa?"

"That sounded like more of a question than an answer, you know." He said, putting one of his hands on his hips.

I frowned. "Sorry."

Rory shook his head, having calmed down from my earlier mistake. "Don't worry about it. But, Efa? That name… it's a magic name, isn't it? I've heard names like that before. I don't think it's smart to go 'round calling you Efa, what with all that talk goin' around, so we'll have to call you something else for now."

My stomach growled while he spoke and I looked down at my bread hungrily, not wanting to eat it in front of Rory. I was afraid he'd want me to share, and I didn't like sharing.

"Go ahead and eat it, Efa. I had some food earlier, I won't ask you to share your food." He said kindly. I tore into the loaf right away, barely waiting for him to finish his sentence. I could tell he wanted to laugh at me again, but he held back.

I ate quickly, careful not to spare any crumbs, and finished the loaf of bread within record time. Rory waited while I ate, probably pitying me like some poor, dumb animal who'd been starving. Well, I suppose I was, back then. I was just a stupid kid starving on the streets.

"I don't like Efa, anyway. It's too short and simple. Someone like you deserves a nice name, don't you think?" he continued. I ignored him, favoring my tasteless meal over his prattling. He didn't seem to mind. "Besides, isn't that sort of a girly name? I think so. We should find you a better name, something more elegant. A street rat with an elegant name, isn't that ironic?" he paused as if to let me answer, but I didn't, so he went on. "What about Alexander? That's nice, isn't it? That's the King's son's name, too. I don't suppose you'd mind it, sharing a name with a prince?"

Barely listening to the boy, I looked toward the door longingly, wanting to leave. I was bored, now, and his useless chatter wasn't helping things.

"Anyway, I suppose I should get on with it, shouldn't I? You're alone, I can tell, and I just want you to know you don't have to be. There's a whole bunch of us, orphans I mean, and we'd be happy to take you in. All you have to do is listen to what I tell you, and we can all be together, like… like a family, sort of."

Looking back at him, I squirmed in place and looked to my feet, wiggling my bare toes. "I s'ppose I could." I mumbled, rocking on my heels.

Rory grinned wider than ever and clapped me on the back. "There's a good fellow. Come with me, I've got loads to show you."

With that, Rory led me from the abandoned building, which I later learned had been an old bakery, and took me deeper into the ghetto, where he introduced me to his mates. How strange was it that they took me in, just like that, without pausing to think about whom I was or what my "magic name" meant? But Rory kept that last part between us. Whatever the talk going around Arcadia was, it wasn't good, and he told me never to tell anyone that name ever again, that it was dangerous, and that the King was friends with a fellow who didn't quite like magic. I barely understood what magic was, or the troubles throughout Arcadia, but I always listened to Rory, because I knew that when I didn't, I'd suffer some serious repercussions.

I won't go into details, since I can see you're getting quite bored, but let's just say I now have a rather smallish scar on my side from the single time I went against Rory. Perhaps it's a story for another time, but for now, I suppose you'd rather just get on with it all.

Like I said earlier, winters were our hardest to get through. After each one, less and less children would be with us when we went to sleep in alleys or abandoned shacks at night, but with every illness that befell the city, still more children came to join us. Rory and I were survivors of three winters together before I went away, and they were always bitterly cold and full of death.

It was winter when my life really began, and again when I felt it had ended. The children and I were keeping an eye on the market, making ready to start our day off with some warm loaves of bread, fresh out of the oven. Our mouths watered just thinking about it. We were starved more than ever those days, with the security tightening up in the marketplace as Arcadia ran out of food, and people got poorer. Thievery was high despite this, and we were no exception.

We moved quickly. I separated from the others, dodging through the crowds, and slipped up behind a pretty looking lady in a blue and silver dress; Arcadia's national colors. I reached up and snatched a loaf of bread from the basket at her side smoothly, slipping away and back through the crowds before she even noticed her bread was gone.

Unfortunately, someone else _had_ noticed.

"Stop, thief!" someone cried, and I looked behind me to see a middle aged man pointing at me. I scowled, cursing internally (something one of the boys had taught me some time ago, against Rory's wishes) and ran full sprint, slipping through people's arms and legs in order to escape. I was lucky I was so small, or else I would've been caught a long time ago.

Tucking the bread into my belt, I ran toward the market's exit, where more guards waited.

Damn.

Knowing I couldn't get out that way, I turned heel and dove over a vendor's stand, dashing between confused salesmen as I headed for the other exit. I didn't even see the horse until too late, when I slammed into its front legs and ended up on my rump, dazed. I tried to shake it off, my vision blurry, looking up to see what I had run into.

A man with graying hair sat upon a black and white Shire horse, a large breed native to our mountainous land. His clothes were a soft blue, again with our nation's color, and a cape was draped over his shoulders. Upon his head was a golden crown, so large and regal I could barely believe my eyes. I had run into the King of Arcadia, King Adino II.

Large hands grabbed at me from behind, pulling me to my feet roughly. I cried out, kicking my feet and trying to break free of the men, to no avail. If I could not escape Rory's grip years ago, what made me think I could escape two grown men, and guards, at that? Perhaps there was fight in me, or as Rory would say, sheer stupidity, that kept me fighting against the men, but whatever it was, it saved my life.

"Sorry, m'lord, we'll deal with this street urchin." One of the guards said, tightening his grip on my arm so much that I nearly cried from the pain. I spit at him, swearing up and down that I'd kill him someday, somehow, but this only seemed to amuse the men surrounding me, especially King Adino.

"No, no, that's alright. Let him go, men. He was doing no harm." The King ordered. Baffled, the guards looked at each other.

"Sire?" one asked dumbly, neither guard releasing me.

"That's an order, soldier. Let the child go."

"But sir, he was stealing from someone, see?" The guard to my left ripped my bread from my belt, holding it out for the King to see clearly.

King Adino frowned, eying the bread with uncertainty. He sighed, looking down at me, and I met his eyes. They were a shocking blue, which went surprisingly well with his black and grey hair atop his head. I remembered when I was younger and Rory told me the story of how Arcadia's color came to be blue, and all because of the Royal family's bright eyes. Now, seeing them up close, I could understand why it became the nation's color. The color was proud, prominent, _beautiful_. There aren't enough words to describe the color, honestly. All I can say is that I was pleasantly surprised at the sight, and I knew from then on that it was a good choice, that blue. It was a color that was truly chosen by God.

"I will ignore your rudeness and questioning of my authority as soon as you unhand that child, soldier. _Release him._"

"Y-yes, sir." The guard murmured, and both let go of my arms as if they'd been burned.

I expected the King to move on, problem solved, but he did not. He continued to look down upon me, sizing me up as Rory once had, and readjusted himself on his saddle before readdressing me.

"Child, what is your name?" he inquired, his bright eyes piercing through me.

I did not want to disappoint my King. "My friends, they call me Alex." I told him, making sure not to sound scared, even though I was close to wetting my pants.

"Alex? Is that not my own son's name?" he asked, clearly amused. I shrugged, not knowing what to say, and kicked the dirt in front of me, trying to avoid those piercing eyes. "Well, Alex, have you ever seen a castle?"

"Sometimes," I admitted, looking up from behind my eyelashes. "Sometimes I climb to the top of the clock tower and look at your castle. Is… is that bad?"

The King shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I do not think so, my boy. But have you ever seen a castle... up close?"

I was beyond nervous by now. Instead of kicking the ground, I took to playing with my dirty, matted hair, which hung in my face limply. I shook my head at the King, noticing as I looked about me that everyone in the marketplace had stopped to watch us. I could not see Rory or any of the other children. They had abandoned me.

"I don't suppose I have, sire." I replied quietly. "'s not allowed, 'less you have official business or somethin'."

He laughed. It was a jolly laugh, light and flowing warmly through the air. I liked it. "Yes, I suppose you're right, Alex. Tell me, would you like to see a castle up close? _My _castle?"

A man on a horse beside the King I had not noticed before leaned over to the King, whispering urgently in his ear. The King waved him off, still laughing, and held out his hand to me.

"Come, child. Let's go on an adventure in my castle together, shall we?"

This was tough. I couldn't exactly refuse my King, could I? Had it been any other man, I would have, but Rory always told me that what King Adino says, goes. No matter what. No matter the cost. If I hadn't been so young at the time, I suppose I would've also recognized that there was a tone of bitterness to Rory's voice, or that he also told me never to go away with strangers, and not to get caught. I was breaking a lot of Rory's rules today.

I took the King's hand and discovered that it was soft, like the silk I'd run my hands along in the market before someone would shoo me away. I could tell, even then, that these were noble, _Royal _hands, hands that had never had to work peasant's work a day in their life. They had some calluses, from battle I suppose, but still they were very soft and very, very warm.

King Adino pulled me up onto the saddle in front of him, telling me to take hold of the little "stump" in front of me in order to stay on the horse. Having never been on top of a real horse before, I held on for dear life, almost not believing the King when he promised not to let me fall. I was petrified, but at the same time, enthralled. I was on a _real _horse, and with Arcadia's King, no less! This was a day to be remembered, surely, and that it was, for it also became my official "birthday" as King Adino called it. From atop the horse I could see all throughout the marketplace, and it was then I discovered that the other children had not completely abandoned me, after all.

At least, Rory hadn't.

Across the marketplace, barely visible, brown eyes watched as I was taken away on a Shire horse with the man he both loved and hated. The King that Rory looked up to and yet could not stand. He watched with fearful eyes as the child he had looked after for several winters was whisked away behind a castle's fortress-like walls and treated like Royalty. I only spotted him for a second and wish now that I had waved or done something to show him that I saw him, but at the time I was so afraid of falling off that damn horse that I hadn't the mind to.

It was the last time I saw Rory for many months.


End file.
